


No Place For Me

by pookiestheone



Series: No Place For Me / Another Chance /The Waning Day [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Kissing, Love, M/M, Orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:35:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pookiestheone/pseuds/pookiestheone





	1. Chapter 1

_Society as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer;_  
 - Oscar Wilde

Andrew Barrow stood at the doorway into the workshop, watching his son at one of the benches. Thomas had always been a curious child and he was happy when his curiosity turned to interest in clock making. Now entering the second year of his apprenticeship, he was showing promise. He understood clocks, their inner workings and seemed to have a feel not just for repairing, but also for building them. He looked forward to the day he would be able to change the business name to Andrew Barrow and Son.

"Thomas."

He looked up from the pieces spread out in front of him.

"How's that mantle clock coming?"

"It seems to be a minor crack in a spring, but you should look at it when you can."

"Fine, I'll do that later, but if that's what you think I'm sure you're right. I'm going to deliver the Yardley's clock."

"Isn't someone going to pick it up? Do you want me to take it?"

"No. It's on my way to the station. You know what to do if anyone comes in with a repair or an order. You can take the repair, but a custom clock you should leave to me and I'll contact them. I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right, father."

Thomas settled back to looking at the parts, making sure there was nothing else wrong. He found clocks comforting; all the parts fitting together, running smoothly and when they didn't he could fix them. It was a comfort he didn't have in his own life. There were things in it he didn't know how to fix. An hour or so later, he sat up straight on the stool and stretched. He had been leaning over those parts, inspecting and cleaning them, for too long and his shoulders hurt.

As he got up to move around, there was a knock at the back door. When he opened it he found a boy about his own age, cap in hand. His clothes were grimy, his face covered in black dust, a shock of red hair above it all. Despite all that Thomas noticed his smile.

"Yes"

"I wanted to tell you I left your coal in the shed."

"You're not the regular coal man."

"No, that's my brother. He's took on another route and got me this one."

"So you'll be doing this all the time now?"

"Yes."

"Fine.

As he was closing the door, the boy asked.

"Could I have some water?"

Thomas looked at him more closely. He was about his height but almost painfully thin. He wondered how he managed to lift the bags of coal. Beneath the dirt his skin was pale and he was trembling. It was cold, but he was only wearing a light jacket and had no gloves.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm just thirsty."

"Come in and close the door, but I'm going to have to ask you to stay here. I can't let too much dust get onto the parts unless I plan on cleaning them all over again."

He could see the boy blush and regretted that he had made it seem he wasn't good enough to be there.

"Just wait here a moment."

"Thank you."

Thomas went into the main area of the workshop and brought back one of the stools.

"Sit down while I get you that water."

The boy sat without speaking and bowed his head, looking at his feet. Thomas poured some water and brought it back.

"Here."

The boy took the glass without looking up, spilling some on himself before taking a drink. Thomas noticed that his hands were red and bleeding, his nails broken and encrusted with coal dust. His clothing wasn't just dirty, it was threadbare with patches everywhere and the kerchief around his neck was stained with sweat. The boy took another sip and handed the water back.

"Thank you," he mumbled and got up to leave.

"Wait. Is that enough? Do you want to get warm before you go?"

When the boy turned to look at him, he could see that tears had cleared some of the grime from his face, partially revealing a long scar down his right cheek. Thomas reached out and grabbed his arm.

"What's wrong?"

The boy wiped his eyes, then his nose, on his sleeve.

"At the last place when I asked for some water they said no and shut the door on me."

"Well I didn't, did I?"

The boy shook his head.

"Then sit down for a little longer and get warm. Do you have much more to deliver?"

"No. You're my last."

"So what's the hurry?"

"I have to get home or my father. . ."

"Will five minutes make much of a difference?"

"It might, but it is warm here."

The boy sat back down.

"What's your name?"

"Charlie. Charlie Alders."

"I'm Thomas Barrow. You can call me Thomas if you want."

Thomas reached out his hand. Charlie hesitated. This wasn't how things worked. Usually people just looked through him. They seldom asked his name and certainly never told him theirs. He wiped his hand on his pants before shaking it. He peered over Thomas's shoulder into the workshop.

"What do you do here?"

"We make and repair clocks."

"And do you own it?"

Thomas laughed but was sorry as soon as he saw the hurt look on Charlie's face.

"No. My father does. I'm just an apprentice."

"An apprentice?"

"Yes. I'm learning how to be a clock maker."

"Well, I didn't have to learn anything about being a coal man but how to lift and carry."

His smile took Thomas by surprise, flustering him. He asked before thinking.

"So, does your father own the coal business?"

It was Charlie's turn to laugh.

"My father doesn't own anything. Just sits at home and drinks. Me and my brother work. I was at one of the mills for five years 'til it closed. Now I'm doing this."

"How old are you?"

Charlie looked at him, trying to figure out why he was asking.

"Sixteen. Look, I have to go. Thanks for the water."

He got up, opened the door and left without another word.

As Charlie picked up the horse's reins, he wondered why Thomas had been so nice. That hadn't been his experience when dealing with people. Either they just ignored him or stepped back if he got too close as if he was going to get them dirty just by standing there. He had a filthy job, he had the clothes on his back and not much else, he was poor, his father drank whatever money he earned, but he shouldn't be treated like that. He realised he should have asked what time it was. The horse and cart still had to go to the yard, the left over coal had to be put back and if he was late getting home his father would make sure he regretted it. He moved the cart down the alley toward the street, hoping the damn horse didn't bolt again.

Thomas looked at one of the clocks. It was time to close up. He made sure the back door was barred, turned out the lights and locked the front door behind him. He and his father lived just a few blocks away on one of the side streets, so he didn't have far to go. After his mother had died there was only the two of them. They had a maid who came in and a cook, but she would be gone by now, leaving him a dinner. His father wouldn't be back. He visited his brother every Wednesday and always stayed overnight.

He thought about Charlie and wondered if he would see him next week. If he did, he would make sure to give him a pair of his gloves if he still wasn't wearing any. Those hands of his were pretty beaten up. It couldn't be easy doing his type of work in the cold without gloves. As he thought about his clothes he knew that gloves wern't all he needed, but he wasn't sure he would willing to take anything else. After all, he didn't know that much about him. He felt sorry for him and that might be exactly what he didn't want. He would wait until he saw him again and try to find out a bit more. Something about him made him want to help. Maybe it was that smile, maybe he sensed they were more alike than either expected.

As Charlie pulled the cart into the main street he saw Thomas a short distance away. He smiled and waved.

"Charlie, wait."

Thomas hurried up to the cart.

"Will you be coming the same day next week"?

"Yes, that's what the owner says. Weekly on Wednesday unless you have a special order. Why?"

"No special reason. My father's always gone on Wednesday and it's quiet. I would like to talk again."

Charlie looked at him strangely.

"Maybe I won't have time."

"Well, if you don't, at least knock on the door to let me know you've been."

"I can do that," Charlie answered, still puzzled. Few people ever wanted to talk to him, maybe that was why he had told Thomas more in the last half hour than he could remember ever telling anyone. So no matter what he had said he would try to make the time. Being kind, asking his name, now wanting to talk. Thomas Barrow certainly was different.

"Good night, then."

Charlie slapped the reins.

"Good night, Thomas."


	2. Chapter 2

His father's belt buckle caught him in the ribs twice. He tried to get away, but the old bastard was twice as big as he was and much stronger. First punching him to the floor, leaving him with a black eye and cuts on his lip and chin, then putting his foot on the back of his neck to hold him down. The repeated blows from the belt hurt, but when he turned it around the buckle made him yelp in pain.

"Shut up you little whiner. Where's your no good brother?"

"I don't know."

The last time Charlie had seen his brother had been almost a week ago on Wednesday. He never came home after that; he had taken his pay and quit his job. Not that he could blame him. He had gotten the worst of it long before Charlie did. Except now, Charlie had to take the brunt of his father's drunken anger. A couple of more cuts with the belt then he stopped, but kicked him in the ribs before he walked away.

"Get up. I haven't had any food."

Charlie struggled to his feet. This had to stop. His father knew exactly what he earned and took it all, so he hadn't been able to put any money aside that he could use to get away. He would just have to do what his brother had, but he wondered if he had the nerve. If he kept his job his father would find him. If he quit it, he would only have his last pay. Nowhere to live. But that was better than putting up with this. If he didn't go, one of them was going to die.

As Charlie jumped down from the cart at Thomas's shed, he grunted in pain. His shirt rubbing against the welts on his back kept them sore. Every time he lifted a bag of coal his ribs ached making it painful to breathe. Last night had been the last straw. When he got up this morning he grabbed the few belongings he had and stuffed them into a paper bag. He could hear his father snoring in the corner so he moved quietly. From its hiding place he dug out his mother's small silver cross, the only thing that his father had never sold. He knew he had it, but for some reason that Charlie didn't understand, he never asked about it. Still he kept it hidden.

He loaded the coal into the shed, then knocked at the back door of the workshop.

Thomas got up from the bench and picked up the gloves before opening the door. Charlie was standing in the half shadow, only his lower body clearly visible.

"Charlie, come in."

"I really can't. I have to get going. Just wanted to let you know about the delivery."

He could see the disappointment on Thomas's face.

"Oh, that's too bad. But if you can't . . . Here, I want you to have these."

Charlie looked at the gloves.

"Why?"

"I noticed last week that you weren't wearing any and you aren't today either. It's too cold to be without gloves."

As Charlie stepped forward to look at them, Thomas first noticed he was still wearing the same clothes, down to the red kerchief around his neck. Then he saw the black eye, the bruises and the cuts. His first impulse was to reach out his hand to touch his face. Charlie jumped back, groaned and grabbed his side.

"Don't"

"What happened to you."

"It doesn't matter. I don't matter."

"Charlie, look at me. If I didn't want to know I wouldn't have asked. And right now, you matter to me."

Charlie hesitated. He had never had anyone he could tell. All the neighbours knew, how could they not, but none of them cared. Deep down, he knew that's why he had knocked on the door. He could have just put the coal in the shed and left. He was never going to see Thomas again so it made no difference. Yet he had knocked and despite saying he couldn't stay he had hoped that Thomas would somehow make him. Their eyes locked for a moment as recognition flashed between them.

"Charlie, please come in. It's colder than last week and you look like you need more than warmth."

"All right, but I have to get the horse and cart back to the yard and get my pay before they close."

"When is that?"

"Six-thirty"

"It's five-thirty. How long does it take?"

"About ten minutes."

"If you leave by six you'll have lots of time."

He started to follow Thomas into the main work area but stopped.

"Are you sure? I'm still covered in coal dust."

"It's all right. There's nothing out that matters."

He pointed to one of the stools and settled into the one opposite.

"So, what happened?"

Charlie paused then told him the whole story. Not just about last night, about his brother leaving, but about all the other nights when he had been too sore or too afraid to sleep. How it has started after his mother died when he was six and how it only got worse as time passed. How he had walked by the river a few times and wondered what it would be like to dive in and never come up. How his life seemed nothing but pain and loneliness that he felt would never get better. When he finished he saw Thomas wiping tears from his eyes.

"Why are you crying? It wasn't you."

Thomas cleared his throat.

"It shouldn't be anyone."

This time when he reached out to touch his face Charlie didn't pull away. His fingers gently traced the bruise around his eye, then followed the scar on his cheek to his lip Charlie reached up to hold his hand there. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him without hurting him, even when they didn't mean to. They both jumped when the clocks began to strike six. Charlie stood up.

"I have to go."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Well, I'm not going back. I can't stay at the coal merchant's; my father will find me. I'm going to get my pay and see if I can find a room for the night. Then start looking for work tomorrow."

Thomas thought for a moment.

"Charlie, would you trust me?"

"I've told you all this and I don't really know you, so I guess I would"

"Why don't you stay with me?"

"At your house? Thomas, look at me. People like me come to your back door. I might step inside but I would never go anywhere else. I wouldn't expect to and no one would ask me."

"Didn't I just ask you?"

"What about your family? Would they want me? How do you know I won't rob you or kill you in your sleep? It seems like a big risk you're taking for someone who is a stranger."

"There's only my father and he's away until tomorrow. So there's no one but me at home and I'm willing to take a chance."

He reached up to touch Charlie's lip again. Neither of them was naive or a virgin. But Charlie's world was completely different from Thomas's. He grew up much faster and by the time he was twelve he knew what he was and what he liked. Still they both understood there was something else happening than just the offer of a bed for the night.

"Thomas, I . . . I don't think this is a good idea."

"It's just for tonight You won't have to look for somewhere to sleep. Tomorrow you can do what you want.

That wasn't what Charlie thought was the bad idea. Besides he suspected that it wouldn't be as easy as all that. But he needed somewhere to sleep and Thomas made him feel safe.

"All right, but I don't know where you live."

"I can go with you to drop off the cart. You said it wasn't far and we can walk back together."

"You can't ride in the cart. It's too dirty and I'm not allowed to pick anyone up."

"I can get out before you reach the yard and wait for you. No one will know. Besides you're quitting, what difference will it make."

Charlie realised he was fighting a losing battle.

"I'll meet you at the corner then."

"I just have to lock up."

After Charlie left, Thomas quickly checked everything and hurried out the door, trying the handle to make sure it was secure. As he walked toward the corner he saw Charlie waiting for him. When he had touched him the second time he had seen how he looked at him. He had read about people with sad eyes, but this was the first time he had ever seen them and he wanted to wipe that sadness away, even if only for a short while. He also sensed that they both wanted more; he had felt it when Charlie pressed his hand to his face. Each lived in a world of hidden loneliness. Tonight it would be different.

When he climbed into the cart, he saw that Charlie had put a shirt on the bench beside him to cover it. He went to lift it off.

"Don't, the seat's dirty."

"Is this yours?"

He nodded.

Thomas guessed that the shirt was probably one of the few he owned and understood what it meant to use it like that. He put it back in place and sat down. Sometimes what appears to be a small gesture is all someone has to offer.


	3. No Place For Me

Thomas waited for Charlie at the end of the lane leading into the coal yard. The wind had picked up and despite wearing a heavy coat he felt the cold seeping in. He stamped his feet trying to keep them warm. Finally he saw Charlie coming towards him, carrying a large paper bag.

"Did you get paid?"

"Yes. Sixteen shillings. Not much but it's better than nothing."

"What's in the bag?"

"Just my things."

As they started down the street Thomas realised that it was likely everything he had.

"Are you still sure you want me to come home with you."

"Well, I didn't stand here for the last half hour because I liked the neighbourhood."

Charlie laughed.

"By the way, you never took the gloves. Here."

They didn't talk much the rest of the way. Thomas because he was apprehensive and Charlie because when he tried his teeth chattered from the cold.

When they reached the house, Thomas started up the front stairs.

"I'll go around back and you can let me in."

Thomas turned to look at him.

"You will not. You're my guest. You'll come in the front with me."

"I'm too dirty."

"Just take your boots off."

Charlie pulled off his boots in the entry hall being careful not to lean against any of the walls. Thomas took off his coat and hung it in the cupboard.

"Give me your jacket."

"No. I'd like to keep it on."

Thomas gave him an odd look.

"All right, if that's what you want. Let's go into the kitchen and see what Mrs. Holloway has left for supper. Since my father's not here, it won't be a proper dinner, probably just something cold, but she always has soup ready on the stove for me to heat."

Charlie followed him towards the back of the house, taking quick side glances into the parlour and dining room on the way. One of the other rooms seemed to be lined with books. As they entered, Thomas turned up the gas lighting, lit the stove under the pot of soup and disappeared for a minute into another room.. When he came back, Charlie was still standing in the doorway. He pointed back to the room he just came from

"You can wash up back in the scullery. There should be soap over by the sink."

Charlie winced as he eased his jacket off, then hung it over the back of one of the wooden chairs. As he walked away rolling up his sleeves Thomas realised that both his shirt and trousers were far too big for him. He had worried that any of his own clothes wouldn't fit, but knew now that it didn't matter. He had things he didn't wear any more that would be just fine. While he waited for Charlie to finish, he went into the pantry to find what Mrs. Holloway had left. Some cold meat pie, bread and butter and a pudding of some sort. With the soup there would be lots for them both. When he came out, Charlie was standing outside the scullery door using the tails of his shirt to dry his face.

"Sorry, I never thought. You needed a towel."

"No. This is fine."

"Well, you can have a bath later and I'll be sure you have towels then. It's upstairs and we'll have to cart the water up."

Little did Thomas realise that the only bath Charlie knew was a tin tub in the middle of their one room, in front of the fire and that after his mother died he only saw that about once a month if he was lucky. He tried as best he could to keep clean, but it seemed to be a losing battle when he usually put the same clothes back on.

"We'll eat here rather than in the dining room."

Thomas put the bread and butter on the table, poured the soup into bowls and split the meat pie, but gave Charlie a larger piece. Charlie tasted a spoonful of the soup, before taking a slice of bread, dipping it into it and cramming most of it into his mouth.

"This is good."

"Mrs. Holloway never disappoints. Try some of the pie."

Charlie grabbed a fork and cut a large piece that he seemed to swallow whole.

"Slow down, Charlie. The food's not going anywhere."

He looked at him sheepishly.

"Sorry, I'm just hungry. I haven't had anything to eat since last night."

Thomas wanted to kick himself. He should have known better.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. That was thoughtless."

Charlie shrugged as he took another bite of pie.

"How would you know."

After they finished supper and the pudding, Charlie leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. As he watched him, Thomas realised how good-looking he was once he had gotten rid of most of the grime. There were still traces around his ears and into his hair, but a clean face had made a big difference.

"Don't fall asleep. We have beds for that."

"Maybe I should just sleep here and not put you to any trouble."

"Where? On the floor? Nonsense. I asked you to stay overnight and you'll sleep in a bed. But you will need that bath, you know. I lit the fire under the copper when we came in so the water should be ready. I'll help you fill the bath, then leave you to it."

He waited before going on.

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but your clothes . . ."

Charlie looked embarrassed.

"I have another shirt and pair of trousers in the bag, but that's all I've got."

He walked over and pulled them out. Thomas recognised the shirt that he had sat on. They were a bit cleaner, but not in much better condition than what he was wearing.

"If I gave you some of mine would you take them?"

"No. I don't want charity. I do things on my own."

"But if a friend can help out, it's not charity. As far as I'm concerned, asking you here wasn't charity. I had somewhere you could sleep and it didn't seem right not to let you use it. I don't think this is any different"

Charlie put the clothes back in the bag and rolled it up. Was Thomas a friend? It didn't seem he could be; he hardly knew him. But at the same time he had done more for him than anyone else ever had. Maybe that's what friends did  helped out without asking why.

"Are we friends?"

"If not I would like to think we could be."

"Well, if a friend wants to give me something, I think I would be all right with that."

Both of them ignored the likelihood that they would probably not see one another again after tonight.

"After you have your bath we can look at what I have. I think most of it will be too big, but the trouser length should be good. Now help me carry the water to the bath."

Charlie took off his shirt and was unbuttoning his trousers before Thomas realised it.

"What are you doing?"

"My clothes are too dirty to trail through your house."

Thomas realised that he had been self-conscious about his grimy appearance and about the state of his clothes ever since they had reached the front door, likely even before that, and that by suggesting Charlie take some of his clothing he had probably made it worse.

Charlie dropped his trousers to the floor and stood in his underwear. Thomas noted that he better give him some of those as well. He wondered if he was aware of just how much he was revealing. He was going to tell him to put his trousers back on at least, but he was already heading to the scullery to get the first pitcher of water. When there was finally enough water for a bath, Thomas found him the soap and was ready to leave.

"You can stay if you like. I don't mind."

Standing facing him, he had already pulled the drawstring and was out of his bottoms.

"Oh, I don't . . ."

As he lifted the undershirt off over his head he repeated.

"I don't mind."

Thomas felt like he couldn't move even if he wanted to. Stripped of its clothes Charlie's body seemed to draw him in, overwhelming him with thoughts and images that usually only surfaced in his dreams. He could imagine running his hands across his chest and down his sides, reaching around to grasp the cheeks and pull them apart. He wanted to kiss his lips, his scar, his ears, his neck, his chest, his cock, his feet, anywhere his mouth and tongue could reach. He could tell from Charlie's smile that he knew the effect he was having on him. Then when he turned around and bent over to test the water, Thomas felt his legs begin to shake and he slumped against the wall for support. Charlie stepped into the tub and sat down gingerly.

"This is hotter than it felt."

He slid down in the water, then sat back up and soaped himself all over.

"Would you wash my back? I can't reach it myself."

"Thomas?"

"Uh . . . yes."

He walked up behind him. Charlie tilted his head back to look at him as he handed him the soap.

"Take it easy though, I'm still sore."

When he leaned forward, Thomas could see the angry welts had started to turn to bruises. He gently soaped the back of his shoulders working his way down. All the time he could feel his cock pushing against the buttons of his fly as he pressed himself against the rim of the tub. As he reached the small of his back, Charlie straightened, grabbed his hand and slid it to his crotch, pulling Thomas forward so their cheeks touched. Almost instinctively Thomas's fingers wrapped around his hardening cock.

"Why don't you get in with me."

Thomas panicked and tried to pull away, but Charlie held his hand in place.

"Thomas, I want this. I just hoped you wanted it too."

He let go of his hand, but Thomas didn't move. His fingers massaged his cock through the foreskin, then slipped it back so the head pushed out.

He stopped and stepped away.

"No."


	4. No Place For Me

Charlie scrambled to get out of the tub.

"Thomas, I'm sorry. I just thought . . . And when you touched me . . ."

"Stay there. I mean no, not here. I want you in bed with me."

Thomas brought one of the pitchers of clean water and poured it over him, rinsing the rest of the soap off. He partially filled a small wash bowl and brought it to the tub. With his free hand he scooped water between his legs, pushing them apart so he could reach high between his cheeks. He heard a hoarse moan and felt Charlie's cock throbbing against his wet sleeve as he used the palm of his hand to wipe the last of the soap away. He bent Charlie forward and emptied the remainder of the water over his head, washing the soap from his hair.

"You can get out now."

Charlie reached for one of the towels, but Thomas pushed his hand away.

"I'll do that."

He dried his face, holding his gaze the entire time. Charlie stood almost mesmerized as he wiped each arm, then turned him around to do his back, cautiously patting the welts. As he reached his hips, he once again spread his legs, bending him forward so he could reach between them, teasing his balls and then his hole. As he touched him there, Charlie jolted and gasped loudly. He let the towel linger, rubbing it back and forth, feeling him twitch.

He took him by the hips and turned him again. With a new towel, he massaged his thighs and calves, then lifted each foot to dry between the toes. Finally he slid the towel up to his groin, playing with his balls, rasping the sides of his cock, sliding the foreskin back onto the shaft to brush the head with its roughness.

Charlie grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Don't. I'm too close."

Thomas dropped the towel and took his hand, leading him to his bedroom. He pushed him back onto the bed and stripped off his own clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He knelt between his legs and leaned forward to kiss him. Charlie grabbed him by the neck, crushing their mouths together, gently biting his lips. Thomas slid down so their cocks lay side by side. He grunted when Charlie wrapped his legs around him and thrust, crushing them together. Without leaving his lips, Charlie rolled them over.

He raised himself on his hands and pulled away to kiss his neck, then his ears. He eased down and began slowly teasing his nipples with his tongue, first one then the other. Beneath him he could feel Thomas arch his back and quiver each time his tongue moved across them. He traced a line with his lips from the middle of his chest to the wisps of hair at his navel, softly licking downward until he reached the curls at his crotch. He knelt up and moved further down to kiss his inner thighs, nipping them, before gently taking his balls into his mouth. As he released them, he watched Thomas's cock pulse and liquid seep from its tip.

Thomas grabbed his shoulders and rolled them over once again. He hooked his hands under his hips and raised them, burying his face between his legs, pushing at the foreskin with his lips, sucking the tip of his cock. Charlie lifted his hips, forcing his cock deeper, rubbing it along the ridge of his mouth. He held it here while Thomas licked up and down the shaft, catching the sensitive underside of the head, tasting the stickiness that oozed onto his tongue. He released him and shoved his legs over his head, pushing them apart. He spread the cheeks, teasing his hole with his finger before bathing it with his tongue. He pulled back and watched him pucker as he again let his finger explore. Bending in again, he darted the tip of his tongue in and out, listening to Charlie's uncontrolled whimpers.

He rolled first one finger and then another in the saliva before slipping the tip of his index finger inside. He felt Charlie push against him and the finger slid all the way in. He worked it back and forth, pulling it almost all the way the way out each time before plunging it back to its base. He added his middle finger, feeling him clench as the knuckles wiggled in. He wrapped his free arm around his stomach and pulled him forward. Charlie uncurled, arching his back, gripping Thomas's shoulders with his legs. As he began to move his fingers more quickly, he slid his hand up from Charlie's stomach to grab his cock, fisting it tightly, feeling it throb as he squeezed. He could see his face writhe in pleasure with each push of his fingers.

Then he stopped and held them deep inside him, repeatedly flipping one on top of the other as he twisted them. Charlie's mouth opened as every muscle seemed to tense. His eyes glazed and his hips bucked as he spurted between Thomas's fingers, splashing his chest, neck and face. Thomas continued to twist his fingers slowly, listening to him gasp for breath. As he did he felt his own hips jerk as his balls tightened and rose. He pushed forward wedging his cock against his back forgetting about the welts and bruises. Charlie grunted, but was too exhausted to care. The hot jets soaked his back, running down between the two of them, dripping onto Thomas's thighs and his own shoulder blades.

Finally released, Charlie dropped his legs on either side of him as Thomas settled onto his chest, kissing him once again. They lay motionless, trying to recover. Thomas finally rolled off onto his side and Charlie shifted so he could look at him. Thomas slowly traced the line of the scar on his cheek with his finger before resting his hand on his chest.

"Do you know how good-looking you are?

Charlie's face reddened as he laughed. No one had ever told him that. He brushed it off.

"Do you think that will get me a job."

"I'd hire you."

They both fell silent.

"Maybe we can figure out something together."

"I'm not good for much more than what I've been doing. I left school when I was ten."

"Maybe my father will know someone."

"How would you explain knowing me?"

He pulled Charlie closer.

"Leave that to me."

Soon he heard Charlie snoring softly. He hadn't wanted to admit it, but he really had no idea what he would do. Maybe a little bit of truth and a few lies. His father was usually kind and understanding, but he had his hard and stubborn side. Charlie wasn't the same as they were. His father was no different than most; people like Charlie were there to do a job and could otherwise be ignored. They should know their place. Maybe if he just met Charlie. Grasping at straws.

Thomas woke in the middle of the night and reached over for Charlie. The bed was empty. He sat up, peering into the darkness.

"Charlie?"

"Over here."

Thomas could just make him out in the chair at his writing desk looking out into the night. He climbed out of bed and went to stand behind him, bending over and wrapping his arms around his chest.

"Why are you here? You're cold, come back to bed."

They got back into bed and were soon asleep, but even as he slept Thomas sensed Charlie tossing and turning beside him. He woke just after dawn and shook Charlie.

"Time to get up. Mrs. Holloway will be here at seven-thirty and we have to find you some clothes."

"I can't be here when she is. You know that."

Thomas nodded and turned to pull underwear for them both out of one of the drawers, shirts from another, then went to the cupboard and found some trousers. He laid Charlie's in two piles on the bed.

"One of these will do you for today and the other for tomorrow. When you come back tonight, we'll see what else I can find. I'm sorry I don't have any shoes for you."

Charlie looked at the clothes. He had never had anything but worn out hand-me-downs from his brother. These were almost new.

"Am I coming back tonight?."

Thomas grabbed his hand and kissed it.

"Yes"

They took turns at the wash basin, then both got dressed. Charlie's trousers kept slipping off his hips. Thomas reached into another drawer and handed him some suspenders.

"The guest room is next door. That's where you'll sleep. You can put the rest of the clothes in there while I go downstairs and gather up your old things. Will you get the underwear from the bathroom? Can we throw it all out?"

"Just take my money out of the pocket first."

When Thomas left, Charlie sat down at the desk. He had been with other men, but it had just been some stranger's cock or finger. Last night had been different, as if he had been waiting for Thomas all his life. He couldn't believe the way he treated him. It seemed he really did matter. He wanted nothing more than to be with him. But this plan to have him stay and to get his father involved was mad. He doubted that even Thomas thought it was possible. Everyone was supposed to have dreams, but Charlie learned long ago his never came true.

Downstairs Thomas took the money out of Charlie's trousers, before stuffing the clothes and jacket into the paper bag. He walked to the bottom of the stairs and was about to call up, but instead opened the cupboard and dug through it to find a jacket. It wasn't a winter one, but it was heavier and better than the one he just threw out. He pulled a ten pound note from his billfold and put it in the pocket. Charlie might not like it, but he would worry about that tonight. He could always say he forgot it was there. As if forgetting a ten pound note happened all the time.

"Are you coming?"

"On my way."

Thomas went into the kitchen to look for something to give Charlie to eat. He found some cheese and some of the bread from last night.

"Where are you? "

"I'm right here."

Charlie walked in, underwear in hand, and stuffed it into the bag.

"I've got you something to eat. Not much I'm afraid, but it will do until tonight. We usually eat around seven."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and there's a jacket in the hallway. You can't wear that old one with the new things."

Charlie was oddly silent.

"There's something wrong, isn't there?"

"No. It's just that you've given me a lot ."

"I have them to give. Why not."

He paused, reaching out to caress his cheek.

"I would give you everything."

As he bent over to kiss him, Charlie stood up and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly.

"You know there's no place for people like us, don't you."

"We'll make a place."

Thomas kissed him to shut him up, then broke away quickly.

"I think that's Mrs. Holloway at the back door."

They hurried down the hallway and Thomas handed him the jacket.

"I'll see you tonight."

Thomas was distracted for the rest of the day. His father noticed, but didn't ask knowing he would probably tell him when he was ready. Thomas was like that. As they waited for dinner they sat in the small library. While his father read, Thomas fidgeted. He had to tell him about Charlie, not everything of course. He couldn't imagine being without him, but the longer he waited the more he felt the whole thing was doomed. Finally his father couldn't hold back.

"Thomas, what on earth is wrong?"

He decided that he better try to explain. The story he told was fairly accurate, except he made it sound like he felt sorry for him and of course he left out most of last night. When he finished his father sat for a few seconds before speaking.

"So, do I understand you asked this coal man here and he spent the night? And that he's coming for dinner and to stay again?

Thomas nodded.

"That is not acceptable. We can't have someone like that in the house. Charity has its place, Thomas, just not under my roof. When he comes, get rid of him. Why would you even think I would allow this? I don't want to hear another word about this nonsense. Do you understand?"

"Father, please. He has nowhere else, no one else. I promised."

"It's a hard fact of life, Thomas, but promises are broken all the time. Not another word."

Andrew Barrow was no fool. He knew there was more to this than Thomas let on. He had seen how Thomas looked at other boys, even though Thomas wasn't aware he was watching. He had been much too friendly with the greengrocer's boy last summer. He loved his son, but certain things he would not accept. To have this Charlie in their house would mean having to face an ugly truth head on. He wasn't sure what he would do if that happened.

Andrew refused to delay dinner so they ate in silence, Thomas merely picking at his food. His father left him at the table to wait for Charlie. By nine he hadn't shown and Thomas realised he wasn't going to. Thomas felt as if the world were closing in around him, suffocating him. Before he went to his room, he opened the library door to say good night.

"He didn't come, then?'

"No."

"Just as well. Don't be foolish like that again."

"I won't."

Despite his words Andrew couldn't stand to see the despair in Thomas's eyes.

"I really am sorry, but you'll eventually see this is all for the best."

Thomas nodded as he closed the door. When he got upstairs he went to the guest room. There were no clothes on the bed or in the wardrobe. He must have put them outside before he came into the kitchen. When he got to his own room he just sat on the bed and looked around, wiping the tears from his eyes. It was hard to believe what had happened last night and how happy they had been. Maybe only he had been happy and Charlie just played along.

He saw an envelope leaning against the ink well on his desk, his name scrawled on the front. Turning it over he opened it and pulled out a barely legible note. As he did, a small cross fell to the desk.

_Thomas_  
Just one night but I'll never forget you. This was my mother's. I know you'll keep it safe.  
Charlie 

~~ End ~~

This story has a sequel [Another Chance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/723114%20)

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